Captain on the Bridge
by h2ofalcon
Summary: A collection of short stories/one-shots featuring our favorite Enterprise crew and the one and only Captain James Tiberius Kirk. Legends will be made, history rewritten, laughter shared, and friendships forged amongst the stars.
1. Chapter 1

**Only Genius-level Repeat Offender in the Midwest**

Captain Christopher Pike does a double-take when he opens the file matching the genetic information of the young man sprawled out on the bar floor in a mess of blood and shards of glass. There is absolutely no way that this… hooligan, this delinquent, is the son of intergalactic hero George Kirk. There is no way that this country boy's aptitude scores outrank almost everyone at the Academy, and that at age twenty, this youth can speak fourteen languages, pilot a class A vessel, hack into databases with government-level security, reverse-engineer a warp drive, and claim to have survived the massacre of Tarsus IV. But then the kid opens his eyes, and the truth is spelled out for him in their unearthly blue stare. His gaze is that of a fugitive, running from other men's demons. Of a man who has sunk so low that he has nothing left to lose. It is this that prompts Pike to urge Kirk to enlist in Starfleet, to make something of his evidently miserable life.

It doesn't surprise him at all when he is brusquely refused. But as he stands up, leaving behind an old salt shaker that vaguely resembles the Kelvin and the time of departure for the recruiting shuttle, he can't help but notice the faint glimmer of hope lurking beneath the young man's smirk, and can't help but allow a smug grin to cross his face briefly when a familiar blue-eyed gaze meets his across the shipyard the next morning.

_If you're half the man your father was, Starfleet could use you._

Yet Pike knows in his heart of hearts that James Tiberius Kirk is much more than just his father's son.

**A/N: (3/25/16) Fixed**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Erm… Yeah, sorry. This one is kinda angsty and depressing.**

**Last Laugh**

Fate always seemed to have the last laugh when it came to James T Kirk. As he sat slumped like a crumpled rag doll against the thin pane of glass separating him from the outside world, it mocked him in its cool transparency as searing flames blazed their way through his veins, burning him alive from within. Jim couldn't help but reflect on the tragic irony that had plagued him mercilessly throughout his agonizingly short life. He had been born in space only to die there. Spent the first twenty years of his life running from his father's legacy, only to end up following in his footsteps. Had everyone tell him his entire life that he'd never amount to anything, only to end up with the security of several hundred lives resting heavily on his shoulders every single day.

"How's our ship?"

"Out of danger."

Found a family at last in his crew only to have it all brutally ripped away from him.

"You saved the crew."

Saved the world and millions of lives, only to succumb to darkness, joining the endless lists of the fallen, to be forever honored, but not remembered. A hazard one day, a hero the next.

"You used what he wanted against him. That's a nice move."

"It is what you would have done."

Genius or reckless? Brave or hell-bent on destruction?… sometimes even he wasn't sure. Maybe this time it was all of the above.

"And this…this is what you would have done. It was only logical."

He had never believed in no-win scenarios, yet he had entered this radiation chamber knowing full well that he wouldn't be leaving. He had always defied the odds, but this time there was no escape.

"I'm scared, Spock. Help me not be. How do you choose not to feel?"

"I do not know. Right now I am failing."

He had saved his First Officer's life only to have the same man metaphorically throw him under the bus in his report to Starfleet.

"I want you to know why I couldn't let you die. Why I went back for you…"

"Because you are my friend."

Only now it was too late.

His hand pressed desperately against the glass, feeling the ghost of the warmth of his First Officer's palm against his, yet not at the same time. So close, yet so far, just like their growing friendship.

Jim's vision begins to fade, and Spock carefully moves his hand against the smooth surface. _Live long and prosper…_ if Jim had any strength left, he would have looked fate in the face and laughed right back. Instead, he painstakingly imitates the gesture as the darkness looms ever closer.

There was no cheating death this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Flying Blind**

Spock stares in thinly-veiled surprise at, well… himself… across the hangar, and can only begin to process the range of very human emotions flickering across his consciousness as his irrefutably logical mind tries desperately to catch up with and sort his conflicting thoughts back into their usual state of order. Alternate realities, conjoined timelines, anomalies and black holes, cosmic lightning storms, tears in the space-time continuity, fate, destiny; it all makes his head reel. It's just not logical. At all.

"... Fascinating," he manages finally. His older counterpart blinks in amusement, and Spock is caught off guard at the range of emotional expressions playing their way fluidly across the Vulcan's features. "There are so few Vulcans left. We cannot afford to ignore each other."

And it's back; the horridly empty pit in his stomach whose inky black void swirls with only guilt, pain, and heart-wrenching grief. And a sense of duty that he simply cannot ignore. Suddenly it occurs to him that this alternate version of himself must be feeling the same anguish at the destruction of their home planet. And infinitely more guilt for "causing" its destruction.

His next words come out of his mouth before he can stop them. "Then why did you send Kirk aboard when you alone could've explained the truth?"

Spock regrets his query immediately when an expression of inhuman weariness flits across the features of his counterpart.

"Because you needed each other. Opposing yet complimentary opposites. It was that balance between us - I should say you and Kirk - that often made the impossible, possible."

Spock's pulse roars in his ears as memories rush by him. Brilliant, electric blue eyes, that infuriatingly devilish grin, the fledgling bond that had begun to form between them as icy hatred and disapproval morphed into something else entirely in the crucible of shared danger and responsibility. _I've got your back… It'll work. Trust me… It's logic, Spock. I thought you'd like that…_

"I could not also deprive you the revelation of all you can accomplish together... of a friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize."

He'd almost killed the man… the man who this other version of himself insisted was an integral part of his destiny. He'd stood with his hands around Kirk's throat; gripping and crushing, fully intending on ending the life of the one who mattered most as anger overcame him, blinding him just as his grief had blinded him to the correct course of action during such a crisis.

It was illogical to dwell on the past. But Spock couldn't help but be slightly curious. "How did you persuade him to keep your secret?"

The older Vulcan's eyes twinkled mischievously, a rare smile turning the corners of his mouth up slightly. "He inferred universe-ending paradoxes would ensue should he break his promise."

"You lied!"

"I… implied." His smile grew.

"A gamble..." Spock mused aloud, realizing the degree to which he was different from his alternate self. He takes in the smile lines at the corners of his counterpart's eyes and mouth in silent speculation. Perhaps it had been Kirk who had brought out the human side in him.

** "**An act of faith," the older Vulcan replied simply. "One I hope you'll repeat in the future."

Faith, trust, friendship… Spock is surprised at the deep-seated and utterly irrational feeling of _longing_ that fills him as he realizes what he and Kirk could and have already begun to have. But he cannot bring himself to abandon his people, now an endangered species, in order to fulfill his own selfish whims. ** "**The future's not what it used to be..." He asserts reluctantly. "In the face of extinction, it's only logical I resign my Starfleet commission and help rebuild our race."

**"**And yet, you are in a unique position... you can be in two places at once. I urge you to remain in Starfleet. I've already located a suitable planet on which to establish a Vulcan colony and assist in the foundation of a new science academy."

Spock's heart soars with a new hope before he quickly schools himself and logic and duty reassert themselves. **"**My future cannot be determined by your past. We are one, but not the same."

His counterpart's eyes bore into him, and Spock is given the unpleasant sensation that the older Vulcan can see right through him. **"**Then I ask that you do yourself a favor. Put away logic. Do what feels right. The world you've inherited lives in the shadow of incalculable devastation... but there's no reason you must face it alone."

...

As Spock's dark eyes meet Kirk's unearthly blue stare across the bridge several weeks later, something clicks into place, filling the void in the Vulcan's chest, and he knows he has done the right thing. He may be flying blind into a journey filled with danger, adventure, and destiny, but Spock Prime was right about one thing. Spock will never be alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hmm... so I'm not sure I'm completely thrilled with how this one turned out... I loved the idea when I started to write, but then it ended up going in kind of a different direction... Anyhow, please feel free to let me know what you think!**

**Universal Constants**

"I know your face from Earth's history," Nero says, and it's true. No matter the timeline, there is always a James T Kirk. It is a universal constant that he has come to expect, an identity that transcends everything, yet changes nothing at the same time. Each Kirk is earthshakingly different from the others, yet there are fundamental similarities that keep the fabric of space and time woven in their precise pattern. All Kirks are heroic and courageous; bold, brilliant, and larger-than-life. Almost inhuman in their tenacity, loyalty, and very abilities. "Great men," every last one of them.

So when Nero recognizes the hull designation of the USS Enterprise, he should have realized the glaring factor he had managed to overlook in his quest for revenge in a universe where his very appearance had twisted the very substance of its existence. For where there is a Spock, where there is an Enterprise, there is invariably a Kirk. And as he stares into those icy blue eyes, brilliant with an otherworldly strength, to the hollow sucking roar of the black hole and the crushing explosions of the hull of his own ship, Nero finally realizes his mistake. Fate does not appreciate being tampered with, and Nero's interference with the events of this timeline seem to have created a James T Kirk that would someday outshine all the others. Despite his inner demons and gilded scars, this James T Kirk is a force of nature that would defy all definitions with which the universe tried to hold him back; more than just a constant.


	5. Chapter 5

**Shattered**

Christopher Pike stays home with his family that night instead of managing unruly cadets at the bar. A fight breaks out, sending all four participants to the hospital, and even though he is so high on pain meds he can barely see straight, James T. Kirk finds himself gazing intently out the window early the next morning as a shuttle passes overhead. He shivers, fingering the patient-identification wristband on his arm and wondering why he feels so _empty. _More so than normal, anyway.

No one passes the Kobashi Maru. Heck, no one even tries anymore; they all know it's impossible. And in this universe, it is. A medical student sits alone in his dorm after curfew, letting shot after shot of southern whiskey burn a path down his throat, numbing him to the shambles his life has become. An Orion cadet codes in the dark after hours because she has nothing else to fill her time and no one else to care where she has gone. A linguistics major doesn't think twice about her decision to resign her commission from Starfleet after witnessing the violence in the bar. She has better things to do than spend her life cleaning up after arrogant men's mistakes.

The distress call comes while the academy is going about its daily business, and the entire fleet rushes to the rescue, warping into a trap instead. There is no warning. The Enterprise is irreparably damaged, barely managing to limp away from the carnage far enough to watch in despair as Vulcan is sucked into the void. There are no survivors.

Spock watches his planet, his race, and his family be utterly destroyed in the blink of an eye, yet all he is only aware of the gaping void at his side and the icy chasm of _wrongness_ in the pit of his stomach. His mind automatically searches out the solid presence that, for some reason, he expects to find and hold on to; the last resort of a man stranded in a sea of hopelessness that is now illuminated only by the cold, distant gleam of starlight. But there is only the echo of his own pulse in his ears and his own breath fogging up the glass of the port window. He is alone, and he wonders who he could possibly count on to understand his loss. He is alone.

Sulu never makes it back to the ship after a desperate attempt to disarm Nero's drill, and Chekov fervently wishes he had never left Russia. Scotty nibbles morosely on a protein pellet as the wind howls outside, frigid gales of wind clawing angrily at the walls of a Starfleet base in the middle of nowhere on an uninhabited planet. He mutters a trans warp equation under his breath, but there is no one to hear it, and it flickers from awareness as quickly as it came.

Spock Prime languishes in his frozen prison, keeping a fire blazing only so his fleeting hopes don't get lost in the darkness of the cave. He looks to the entrance, half-expecting a shouting, frantic figure to dash through it any minute, ice beast hot on his heels. But there is only the soft hush of falling snow and the crackling of the flames.

He doesn't believe in no-win scenarios; so how could his entire life become one? As Nero's drill consumes Earth from within, James T. Kirk can only watch in horror as his home is wreathed in flames. He lies, scorched, drained, and nearly lifeless; slumped against the wall of the house whose inhabitants he was able to save in one desperate, adrenaline-fueled rush. But it was too late for the family to escape the massacre, and Jim's sacrifice amounts to nothing. It is too late for them all now.

His vision blurs, reminding him of a bar fight years ago and hospital beds and shuttlecraft. And suddenly the flames disappear. He is not propped limply against a crate in an abandoned alley, but rather staggering backwards in a cave of snow as the ghost of a familiar hand leaves his face. _Spock_. The name shapes itself on his tongue without prompting, and suddenly Jim Kirk can see. A life so familiar, yet so far away. Greatness and friendship melding with darkness and abandonment. Then the smoke clears, and Jim shudders with one final breath as his world collapses. The universe mourns what could have been; the tapestry of destiny is shredded into a thousand fragments as the pattern spirals irreparably out of control. But the future has been shattered, and there is no one left now to pick up the pieces.

**A/N: **Hey all, guess what? I'm still alive; (barely) just buried under mountains of homework and my own ideas for this original story I'm writing. :P But no worries! I will post whenever possible!


	6. Chapter 6

**Command Gold**

For once in his life, James Tiberius Kirk is at a complete loss, his future cloudier than the silvery mist that has fallen over the surrounding fields like a shroud.

_Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow, 0800._

As he tears by, wind in his hair and motor humming under his hands, he catches only glimpses of the occasional specks of flickering golden light on the horizon. But the fog is strange that way; sometimes it makes the lights seem so close he could almost reach out and touch them.

_You could be an officer in four years, have your own ship in eight…_

For a second, he allows himself the luxury of pretending they're stars, flying by against the opaque expanse.

_And who am I, Captain Pike?_

_Your father's son._

But then he remembers the frigid darkness of the endless miles that stretch infinitely ahead, and he jerks himself roughly back to reality.

Damn Pike for making him doubt. Damn him for reopening old wounds and digging up old dreams better left for dead. The road abruptly comes to an end, and Jim lets the motor splutter into silence as he looks up involuntarily. Strangely, he is not sure why he expected to end up anywhere else.

The bare skeleton of a massive starship gleams in the predawn light, seeming almost to levitate over the spiderweb of scaffolding brandishing it up to the sky, and Jim can't look away. Something draws him towards it: the ship that is as broken, as incomplete as he is.

_Your father was Captain of a starship for twelve minutes. I dare you to do better._

James T. Kirk was never one to turn down a dare.

So he follows the tugging sensation in his gut and boards a shuttle in the shadow of the ship where, one day, he will don command gold and burn so brightly that he lingers in the shadow of his dead father no more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Enigma**

**Part One- "Devil May Care"**

Leonard McCoy would never truly understand the enigma that was Jim Kirk.

At least this time he didn't nearly hit his roommate over the head with a baseball bat when he came creeping back into their dorm after staying out until an ungodly hour, but boy was he tempted. Maybe a concussion would get rid of some of that kid's genius-caliber brain cells and make room for some common sense. They had an advanced physics final the next morning at eight AM, for God's sake. And McCoy wouldn't attempt telemetry while hungover for any sum of money. Why he had to take this course as someone on the medical track anyway was beyond him. He was a doctor, not a navigator. McCoy peered blearily at the clock and groaned.

"Damnit, Jim," he muttered under his breath as he heard the man in question flop noisily onto his bed and fall immediately into the steady breathing of deep sleep. He swore to himself that if that kid massively failed the exam waiting for them in three hours that he would show no mercy, and rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep, equations and algorithms swirling uselessly through his head.

Unsurprisingly, Jim refused to get up the next morning. Although McCoy really did try: ice water, blasting music, ripping covers off, throwing textbooks, swearing, yelling, threatening- the works. In fact, he mused as he walked to class alone, he really deserved a Nobel Peace Prize or something for his patience with that infant sometimes. He filed obediently into the lecture hall after the rest of his class, lingering in the doorway just in case Jim suddenly appeared. But there was no devilish smirk or call of the nickname McCoy so dearly loved to hate, so the doctor sank into his seat, resigned. Maybe this would teach the kid a lesson.

At eight AM on the dot, McCoy opened the test booklet and began frantically scribbling answers and equations across its blank pages. But his eyes were repeatedly drawn away from the sea of numbers and diagrams by the void in front of him at the desk where Jim should have sat.

"Damn it, Jim," he repeated under his breath, just as the professor called out that they had reached the halfway mark of the examination period. The door swung open with a bang, and the entire class looked up.

McCoy let his head fall into his hands. No. Way.

"James Kirk," scolded the professor, "you are _very _late."

Other cadets rolled their eyes and turned their attention back to the exam in front of them, but McCoy could only stare disbelievingly at the front of the room.

Jim flashed his signature disarming grin and nodded. "Yes ma'am, sorry about that. I overslept."

"Do you still wish to take the exam? It is extremely unlikely that you will finish," she warned him, but his smile didn't dim in the slightest.

"I'll take it."

McCoy forced his attention back down to his own desk as Jim settled noisily into his own seat, flipping lackadaisically through the test booklet before finally beginning. The doctor snuck another glance at the clock and swore internally, hands shaking as he realized he only had forty-five minutes left.

The next half-hour was a blur of figures and calculations, and McCoy allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction as he finished the final problem. At least he had answered them all. Whether they were correct or not was another matter entirely. Suddenly he felt eyes on him, and glanced up. Jim was watching him in amusement, pen between his teeth and test booklet closed. McCoy glared at him, completely nonplussed, and Jim shrugged before stretching and climbing gracefully to his feet, striding to the front of the room and placing his exam in the exact center of the professor's empty desk. She stared at him with one eyebrow raised, mouth open as if she wanted to say something, but she didn't, and Jim was gone.

McCoy found him outside ten minutes later, lounging easily in the grass and flirting easily with a red-head that McCoy vaguely recognized from his Xenobiology class. Jim caught his eye, and ended his conversation, falling into step next to the doctor.

"Well…" he smirked, "how'd it go, Bones?"

"Fine," McCoy huffed irritably. "At least I won't have to be retaking that class next semester, unlike a certain party animal I know. Tell me, just how hungover are you right now?"

Jim grinned infuriatingly. "I'm not. I just didn't see the point in sitting through that entire test. It's called budgeting my time responsibly."

"Damnit Jim!" McCoy growled. "Well I hope for your sake that you don't have to suffer through another three months of telemetry."

"We'll see."

They didn't get their exam results back for several weeks, but when they did, McCoy found to his immense relief that he had passed. _Barely_. Goddamn astrophysics. He glanced up from his test and found Jim at the professor's desk, back to him. Probably trying to beg his way out of retaking the course, McCoy figured. They were let out into the cold night air, and there was an immediate chorus of groans and sighs of relief. McCoy was proud to hear that he had actually scored higher than the vast majority of the class, and turned towards Jim, who was just emerging from behind the double doors.

"How's Professor Anderson?" he asked, suddenly guilty for thinking that the kid had gotten what he deserved.

Jim shook his head. "She had one of the answers wrong on the key, and I wanted to point it out to her because I knew for a couple of people that it could have made the difference between passing and failing."

"So how did you do?" McCoy pressed.

"Fine," Jim replied, and seemed unwilling to share further. So it hadn't gone well then.

McCoy shivered, suddenly realizing that he had left his jacket back in the classroom. He told Jim to go on without him, and ran back through the encroaching darkness to the Physics building. He pushed open the door to the classroom, part of him surprised to find it still open, and paused in surprise. Professor Anderson was sitting alone at her desk, staring blankly at a small stack of papers in front of her, but she looked up as he walked in.

"Sorry, I just forgot my jacket," he explained, grabbing it off the back of his chair. The professor nodded, and looked back down, seeming to forget he was there. McCoy hesitated in the doorway, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he asked politely, curiosity and tinge of medical concern allowing his Southern background to color his voice slightly more than normal.

Professor Anderson looked up again, allowing a slightly hysterical giggle to escape her lips. Now the doctor was more than slightly concerned for the normally austere and implacable woman, and took another step forward as she continued.

"He… I don't know how, but… he aced it… no one has ever- and he used less than forty minutes…" She trailed off, and it suddenly occurred to McCoy what on earth she was suggesting. Wordlessly, she held out the stack of papers, and the doctor took them gingerly from her grasp, suspicions confirmed and replaced with incredulity. It was Jim's exam.

"Damnit-" he started to say, but faltered, speechless. Little did he know it would not be the last time.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: *cough, cough* This is so NOT what I was planning on doing tonight, but... yeah... I was originally going to post "Enigma" part II next, which involves Spock's version of the prior chapter (different scenario of course), but I couldn't ignore this. Let me know what you think! :P**

**Running From Himself**

If there's one thing James Tiberius Kirk is good at, it's running.

Hell, he's had a lifetime of practice; he's been running from his father's demons since before he could walk and from himself since he was old enough to understand.

First it was his mother's empty gaze. He avoided going home like the plague and stayed at school until he could hardly see his shadow against the pavement, a ghost lingering on the playground long after the other children had wandered home, worn shoes scuffing the Iowa dust as unearthly blue eyes stared up at the darkening sky. She never asked where he was and he was never inclined to share. Yet he always appeared at the back door before the stars came out.

Some days he was filthy and broken and bleeding- it happened with an increasing frequency as he got older- but she never asked, and he never told. The silence in the house was suffocating when she was there and haunted him when she was gone. Because his voice never matched what his mother saw in his eyes. So he ran.

Then Sam left him. Abandoned him to fend for himself with only Frank, who was hostile at best and brutally abusive at worst. Sam was never able to run as fast as he could, Jim realized in retrospect. So it was no wonder he decided to run farther that day rather than harder.

Jim sure showed him. He showed everyone in a massive spectacle that got him an embittered glare (although the spark of anger in his mother's eyes was better than the void) and a one-way trip off planet to an agricultural colony in the middle of nowhere (a temporary escape gone desperately wrong). But the only thing in his head as he tore down the Midwestern highway, pulse thrumming in his ears to match the throaty whirr of the engine under his hands and wind whipping through his hair was that maybe his father would understand. The cherry-red convertible accelerated towards the mouth of the ravine just as the Kelvin had hurtled towards certain destruction in the black iron maw of the Narada eleven years prior. Jim did not go down in a fiery blaze of glory as his lauded hero of a father did before him. You couldn't run if you were dead.

On Tarsus it's not only his father's memory that he runs from. He runs for survival; for himself, but mainly for his kids. Because God only knows they needed him like no one has needed him before. Even when it's over and Starfleet arrives on the scene to mop up the aftermath of the genocide (too little too late), Jim returns to Earth and keeps on running. It's instinctive now. What else can he do?

So he runs from his past, runs from the future, from responsibility, from memories both his own and not, from anything to tie him down to one place; that's what he fears most. From recruitment officers in particular, a manifestation of his oldest demons… Until one night in a bar.

It becomes a familiar pattern, and Jim sprints across the frozen tundra of a desolate planet alone. He has no idea what's chasing him, but part of him could care less. How is it any different from what he has been fleeing for all of nearly twenty-five years?

But there is a flash of flame, a familiar-yet-different face, and a mind meld that leaves Jim reeling. His feet itch to be moving, muscles screaming to run, but he turns and trudges behind the strange Vulcan through the snow, bound by a vague promise of boundless loyalty that he cannot place. It feels right in a way that nothing ever has before, and Jim has the strangest sensation that he has been running in circles, led to this time and place by forces beyond his control. But for once, he cannot bring himself to care.


End file.
